For the Emperor
by Renegade Vile
Summary: The year is 1935 and the Second Europan War is in full swing. The empire has invaded Gallia and at the forefront of the battle is a young Imperial officer called Velten Gregor. Will he be able to bring glory to the Empire and stop Prince Maximillian?
1. Foreword

**Valkyria Chronicles**

For the Emperor

_A Valkyria Chronicles Fiction_

_Greetings to all and thank you for taking the time to read the little fiction I've started writing. ^^ I'd like feedback, comments, criticism, anything as long as it's constructive or can be classified as "sucking up" :p_

_This fiction shows the Gallian Invasion of __1935 from the viewpoint of an Imperial Shocktrooper and his brigade. Velten Gregor is a colonel in the Imperial army and son of the late Berthold Gregor. Far less extreme than his father when it comes to Darcsens and the important of one's birthright, he is nonetheless fiercely loyal to the Emperor. However, his assignment isn't as clear cut as it seems as the young man is tasked with investigating Imperial Prince Maximillian as powerful individuals within the Empire suspect the prince of plotting treason._

_I hope you enjoy and please, review!_


	2. Chapter 1: Invading Gallia

**Chapter 1: Invading Gallia**

A powerful explosion rocked the trenches that sheltered an entire unit of Imperial soldiers. An artillery shell had impacted the ground barely a few meters away from them, sending shrapnel, dirt and debris tumbling down on the troops. An Imperial shocktrooper pressed his back to the wall of the trench and took a deep breath, trying to still his beating heart and trying to slow his breathing down again. His face was hidden beneath the helmet of his red armor, identifying him as an officer. The young man looked up at the sky above. As if to predict their downfall, the deep blue sky had been replaced by dark clouds, hiding the sun from the tired soldiers' eyes. He quickly reloaded his sub-machine gun and decided to take a risk for the sake of knowing what was going on just over the top of the confines of the messy trench. As he peered over the top carefully, he could see the capitol in the distance. The surrounding grasslands had been ravaged by artillery fire, and vehicle wrecks, fallen soldiers and ruinous buildings littered the scenery. Smoke trickled skyward as several wrecks were still ablaze and the nearby apartment building looked as if it was about ready to come crashing down on them with its compromised 10 plus stories. The young officer's eyes settled on the enemy forces that formed the last barrier keeping them from overrunning the bustling city in the distance. Behind him and to his sides were the Imperial forces under the command of General Berthold Gregor. The Imperial war hero had lived up to his reputation as an expert in shock-and-awe tactics. In an impressive assault, he had carved a path right to the main seat of the country's government. But he had a worthy opponent. Across the proverbial chess board was General Radi Jaeger, commander of Firhald's defense force. The invasion of Firhald had gone slowly and had been filled with problems and hold-ups. All due to the masterful strategies of the tank commander. And now he impeded them again. The young officer knew, just like general Gregor, that Firhald's troops had shaky morale and didn't have the numbers to keep up resistance for much longer. But Radi's impressive displays, the line of powerful tanks and the constant artillery barrages had forced the Imperial troops to a standstill and had intimidated the inexperienced soldiers in Gregor's army. If this standstill lasted any longer they would break and be forced to retreat, or risk desertion across the ranks. To make matters worse, the only way to force Radi to back down was to attack now, while the general was isolated and reinforcements were still a long way off. They needed to charge head-on, charge fearlessly and overrun the Firhald army, using strength of numbers and spirit to win. But morale was simply too low for such a charge.

Another shell crashed into the ground, just barely missing the trenches and ending the officer's career and life. The deafening bang caused the officer's heart to rush and he had never taken cover quite as fast in his life.

"We're sitting ducks out here!"

"That Jaeger's invincible, why is the general keeping us stuck here?"

"Does he want us to die?"

The troops were starting to talk amongst themselves, their hearts and minds filled with fear. The hearts of men and women were fickle, but that worked in both directions. A single victory – no matter how small – would be enough to give them the courage to give one last push. The young officer peered over the top of the trench once again, his eyes spotting a small forward outpost to the west of Jaeger's frontline. Firhald's flag waved proudly in the wind, almost mocking the foolish Empire who had thought invading their country would be a walk in the park. Taking that outpost had no strategic value at all compared to other targets. But right now it could prove the victory they needed. Without warning, or permission, the young officer vaulted over the edge of the trench. He could hear the troops he left behind call out to him, calling him crazy or urging him to return and keep his head down. He wasn't one to sit idly in a trench however. Some would call him fearless, but if anything he was terrified right now, terrified of an artillery shell scattering his body across the battlefield. But this was a soldier's duty and he would see Firhald fall yet.

He gripped his weapon firmly as he ran as fast as his legs would carry him. As soon as he came into the range of the soldiers protecting the outpost, they opened fire. He kept his body as low as he could, using the cover of broken buildings, natural hills and abandoned trenches to aid his mad charge. The outpost was little more than half a dozen corridors of several meter long trenches, the flag dead center on the crossroad of those corridors. Barbed wire had been installed around the outpost, wooden poles keeping the wire in place.

As soon as a Firhald scout appeared from the trenches after reloading, the young officer opened fire. The short burst of bullets pelted the soldier, one of his allies crying out his name in anger and grief. The Imperial shocktrooper did not stop as he reached the barbed wire. Instead, the young man spotted an opening between two of the poles where the wire had been raised enough for him to get underneath. He could hear the whistling of a shell descending upon him and knew that if luck wasn't on his side today, he'd soon be watching the outcome of this war from the next life. He forced his body to fall back, using the momentum of his charge to slide under the wire as the shell crashed into the ground behind him. The explosion whipped up further dust and dirt, but the Imperial had survived. The young man slid over the edge of the trench, barrel-rolling into a crouched stance behind a crate within the corridor. While the two soldiers in front of him were still caught off guard he quickly pulled the trigger, not bothering with taking aim. The spray of lethal bullets took down both soldiers before they could react. Even now – after almost having been reduced to dust by the explosion behind him – the shocktrooper did not rest. He rose to his feet and pushed on, running through the deep trench until he could see the flag pole in the fork ahead. Only three more soldiers impeded his progress. The first was a scout who met his end when one of the shocktrooper's bullets pierced his skull. The second, an engineer, gripped a grenade attached to his belt and – panic-stricken – threw it down the corridor. He hoped the explosive would take out the invader. Had the engineer kept a cool head than the charge might've ended in a very different way. But in his panic he had thrown the grenade much too far. As he took cover, expecting the explosion to solve their predicament, he could not defend himself from the soldier that burst from the smoke, a flamethrower burning the Firhaldian beyond recognition. The last soldier in his way was a sniper, who tried feverishly to reload his weapon after missing. The young officer drew a knife from its scabbard at his side and after forcing the sharpshooter to the ground, a powerful thrust – guided by a savage roar – finished him off.

Out of breath, fatigued, dizzy and his ears ringing from so many explosions so close, the Imperial rose up and dragged himself to the flag. From their higher vantage point the Imperial troops could see the single shocktrooper overtake the outpost. The officer gripped the pole and after a short struggle he was able to wrest it from the hole in the ground it had been set in. He raised the flag high before throwing it in the fire his flamethrower had produced, the flames devouring the fabric slowly. His hand reached out to flip a small switch on the radio that was attached to one of the straps of his backpack. The device allowed his voice to travel to the troops that awaited general Gregor's orders atop the hill overlooking Firhald's capitol.

"Firhald has fallen! They simply don't know it yet! We are the Empire! We don't cower in trenches! We are not intimidated by Jaeger's tanks!" The young man's voice was little short of a deep roar as he tried to inspire his allies. "We are the Emperor's fist and we will never back down! For the glory of the Empire! In the name of your Emperor, show Firhald your might! Show the world your strength! Chaaaarge!" As if a simple switch had been flipped, the men's tired hearts were filled with courage and vigor at the crazy young officer's words. Each and every soldier cried out for their nation's glory and no more was needed for them to emerge from the trenches and charge down the hill, Imperial tanks covering their approach.

The young officer relaxed and turned off his radio. After swinging his machine gun over his shoulder with the strap attached to the weapon, the young man reached up to grip his helmet. The protective gear was starting to suffocate him, he needed fresh air as the dissipating adrenaline rush began to make to him feel queasy inside. He slowly removed the helmet and took a deep breath, his blue eyes opening to look up at a command tank that had remained atop the hill to overlook the battlefield.

General Berthold Gregor had been watching the mad charge from his command vehicle with a pair of binoculars. As he recognized the man that had instantly tilted the balance of the battle he couldn't help but smile slightly.

"Well done, my son. You're crazy… But well done," the stoic Imperial whispered before turning his attention back to the battle.

Velten Gregor – the famed general's son – turned away from the hill to face the city, his messy, platinum blond hair waving in the chilling wind. His pale skin was specked with dirt, cuts and bruises. His eyes fixed on a certain dark red tank in the enemy ranks and he couldn't help but hope that he would still have the chance to meet the man that had matched his father.

* * *

><p>The memories of the battle that finally saw Velten get his first real promotion faded away as the sound of a door opening snapped him out of his thoughts. He instinctively looked to his left, to the door that lead into the office where he had been summoned to. That door had remained closed however, it had been nothing more than a secretary moving from one office to the other. The long hallway he was in was silent and the young officer was the only person in it. Wooden floors, antique doors, large potted plants and expensive paintings gave the hallway the atmosphere of an office building instead of a military headquarters. Lined along the wall outside the office Velten awaited to enter, were three chairs, one of which he had been sitting on for half an hour now. When he had received word to come here on such short notice, he had expected it was of such urgency that he'd be greeted the moment he arrived. Velten sighed before placing his chin against his laced hands, his eyes closing as he tried to figure out what a general would want with him.<p>

* * *

><p>"So Cyryl, have you heard of the invasion into Gallia?" A tall man began pouring two glasses with an expensive alcoholic beverage. The man wore a neatly kept Imperial officer's uniform. The black of the cloth contrasting with the bright golds of the medals and emblems that adorned his chest, shoulders and belt. His hat rested on a wooden desk, keeping his short, brown hair uncovered. His narrow, brown eyes turned to look at the other man he had been addressing, who sat in a comfortable, red leather armchair. One half of the office had been set up as a sitting corner with a small, ornate table surrounded by three armchairs. Beautiful carpets and exquisite bookcases lined with classic literature added to the room's luxurious atmosphere. The red curtains had been closed almost all the way to dim the light in the office and give it a more relaxed feel.<p>

"Yes, it would seem the good Prince Maximillian got his way after all. He bothered the Emperor long enough," the other's voice wasn't as deep as the first. Cyryl Nowak had grey hair, a trimmed grey beard and soft blue eyes. A grey suit with pristine white gloves and designer shoes gave him a traditional appearance. He reached out for his glass, accepting the drink and taking a sip before setting it down on the table as the general sat down opposite of him.

"The prince seems utterly obsessed with these stories about the Vakyrur. If I didn't know any better I'd think he was a devout Yggdist," the general groaned slightly as his weary bones protested to his movements.

"Quite… Tell me, Klaus, I've known you for many years now and I know you're not keen on friendly, casual visits. You've called me here for a reason and unless my mind is slipping, I'd say it has something to do with the Gallian Invasion."

General Klaus Adler chuckled at his old friend's words. "Keen as always, Cyryl," he raised his glass briefly, as if saluting Cyryl's choice of words. After taking a sip he continued, "What do you know about the invasion?"

"Maximillian has his heart set on it. His excuse is that the Empire could use the large ragnite deposits in Gallia's soil to power the war effort. The Triumviri were assigned to him, as was quite a large army. I believe Berthold Gregor and Radi Jaeger are two of the generals making up the trio. The third is… That woman that always follows him around… Selvaria Bles," Cyryl paused briefly every now and then as he tested his memory, hoping to remember what he knew, "I think there's more to this than meets the eye. And I think you do as well."

"And so does the Emperor, though as usual he doesn't show his hand. I believe Maximillian believes that the Valkyrur legends are the key to a coup. Even though he's been masking his dealings from any outsiders, we all known what he truly believes."

"The Empire cost him his family, his name, his reputation, and his claim to the imperial throne. You truly believe that somehow he'll find a way to become a threat to the Emperor in Gallia?" Cyryl asked, his eyebrow arching as his interest was piqued.

"I do not know. All I've been able to determine is that Maximillian plans on using Gallia as a means to catapult him back up in the aristocracy. Such a major victory that supplies us with an abundance of ragnite could be all he needs to reappear on the forefront of high society," Klaus took a sip of his drink and gathered his thoughts for a moment, "I do not know if there is any truth to the rumors about Selvaria, nor do I know if Maximillian believes this junk himself, but he remains dangerous. No matter what he does, his uprising would compromise our own plans."

"Indeed. If he plans a coup it won't matter if he succeeds or fails, all our efforts would have been in vain. If he fails the Emperor will tighten security and increase internal screening and there's a good chance he'll uncover some of our agents. If Maximillian succeeds… well… We'd be the first on his list of people to remove quite permanently. We and our associates were responsible for the bombing on his family's train after all."

"Exactly. We need to act now, before he has a chance to implement his plans. We have very few options left at this late point in time. We cannot stop the invasion, nor can we plant a couple of moles throughout his army. But what we can do is supply him with some reinforcements. Of course, he won't have any idea who added those troops to the roster," Klaus explained.

"Surely you know as well as I do that we do not have enough loyal soldiers on our pay roll to supply reinforcements. I'm guessing you've got your eye on a certain someone to – unwittingly – play the part of our agent?" Cyryl asked, almost reading his fellow conspirator's mind.

Klaus chuckled, once more impressed and reminded of why Cyryl was such an accomplished politician. "As a matter of fact. I have the perfect pawn," Klaus reached out for a small, black folder that had been resting on a small stool beside his chair. The general leaned forward to pass the files on to his friend opposite his seat. Cyryl opened the file, the first page was a short summary – with mugshot – of the young officer Klaus had hand-picked.

"Velten Gregor?" Cyryl pondered briefly – the name ringing a bell – before finally speaking up once again, "he's general Gregor's son, isn't he? Why him? I've barely even heard of him."

"I knew you'd question my decision. Trust me, he's every bit as capable as his father, and he's not half a cripple to boot. He served under his father in Firhald and, according to the good general, won them the war. He's actually had nothing but commendations from all the officers he's served under and has continually made progress through the ranks. His only problem seems to be his father's achievements that always overshadow his. What's more, the fact that his father is in the Triumviri would make it far less suspicious that he has been added to the roster at the last minute than any other officer," Klaus defended his decision vigorously, finishing his tasty drink.

Cyryl began to skim over the file, paying close attention to any notable mentions of the young man. "Saw through an ambush by Jaeger. Led the charge on Firhald's capitol personally. Was instrumental in several vital battles in the southern states. He's a shocktrooper, talented in using terrain, shock-and-awe tactics…" Cyryl's voice trailed off before finally rising from the soft whisper it had become, "and he has your stamp of approval. Alright. I'm still skeptical, especially since he's as likely to shoot us as he is Maximillian if he learns of our true intent. Are you sending anyone along to also keep an eye on him?" Cyryl questioned.

"Of course. I thought you might want to meet him. He's waiting to be informed of his new assignment outside. Shall I call him in?" Klaus suggested as he rose from his chair.

"Please do, let's see the upstart," Cyryl still doubted that a 25 year-old officer who – despite rank and achievements – had yet to show up on the radar, could possibly help them in their current predicament.

* * *

><p>Velten had taken off his cap and had begun throwing it up into the air idly, catching it on the way down again. Boredom had overtaken him and after waiting for an hour now he didn't think they'd catch him slacking off. Sadly, he was wrong. Just as he threw his hat up higher than before, the door opened. General Klaus stepped out in time to find the startled Velten standing up and saluting, his cap falling to the ground.<p>

"Erm… Good morning Captain Gregor. Please, step into my office," Klaus stated, ignoring the lapse for now and walking back into the darkened room, leaving the door open for the young man. Velten silently cursed himself as he quickly picked up his hat and followed the general in. Keeping the head ornament under his arm, Velten straightened his back and bowed his head at the older man in one of the armchairs.

"Good morning, general, sir," Velten addressed both men in turn.

"Good morning, please, have a seat," Cyryl motioned for the third chair in between both officials. Klaus returned to his own seat as Velten thanked the politician and sat down.

"I am sure you are wondering why we have called you in, given that you know neither of us. I am general Adler and this is sir Cyryl Nowak," Klaus introduced as he motioned for his friend with one hand, "I am sure you have heard of the invasion of Gallia by now? It was made official two days ago."

Velten nodded slowly, "I have. Prince Maximillian is to lead the effort and my father will be at the frontlines."

"Quite so. However, there are some unsettling developments in accordance to this invasion that cannot leave this room," Cyryl interjected.

"Unsettling developments, sir?" Velten's eyebrow rose at the odd choice of words. He had a feeling he was about to get involved in something he would've preferred to stay clear of. But it seemed he had no choice in the matter, orders were orders after all.

"Prince Maximillian's loyalty has been in question for quite some time and the Emperor believes this invasion serves a second purpose, other than supplying the Empire with ragnite," Klaus continued.

"Treason, general?"

"Indeed. We have reason to believe Maximillian's only real goal with forcing this invasion is to use it as a stepping stone for a coup. He believes the stories of the Valkyrur and is suspected of wanting to use the ancient power to further his status within the Empire."

"I have heard of these stories. Azure lances that fire beams of light and blue, flaming auras that protect the bearers of ancient shields," Velten wanted to inquire why the Emperor – who they implied to disregard the stories as nonsense – would see Maximillian as a danger. But the young man knew it was best to speak only when told to. Both men didn't seem the most trustworthy of sorts and asking too many questions might get them to see him as a bit too curious for his own good.

"It doesn't matter whether the rumors are true or not. If he is victorious in Gallia the troops under his command would sing his name in praise. And if he chooses to turn against the Emperor in his folly he could prove dangerous with those troops under his control," Cyryl had finished his own glass and set it aside.

"You might be wondering where we are going with this, captain. To put it bluntly, and to save us precious time, you are to keep an eye on Maximillian's dealings," Klaus' bluntness surprised his friend.

"I'm a captain, I will not be close enough to the prince to keep an eye on anything. Why can my father not perform this task? Are you implying my father's loyalty to the Emperor has been compromised?" Velten inquired.

"Most certainly not. But he is too close. As member of the Triumviri he will be in constant contact and scrutiny by the suspicious prince. This makes him highly unsuitable for the task. He will also have more than enough work with the war itself. As for your rank…" Klaus reached out for a letter that had rested beneath the file on the young man. "I have seen to it that you have been promoted to Lieutenant Colonel and have been assigned your own brigade of troops."

Velten's eyes widened as he accepted the letter. "I… Thank you, general," he replied cautiously.

"Come now, young man. With that face you'll make us think you find yourself ill-suited for this mission," Cyryl added with a strange smile on his lips.

"You are to depart tomorrow. Details will follow through your previous commanding officer. Naturally you are to keep the true nature of your mission a secret. Any leaks would compromise your mission. I hope you won't disappoint us. Dismissed, colonel," Klaus explained, eyeing Velten carefully.

Velten rose to his feet and saluted his two seniors, "general, sir." With that said, he quickly made his way out of the uncomfortable office. It had been a long time since he had last been put on the spot like that, and he still disliked it as much as before. The promotion, the mission, even the demeanor of both men, it was all far too suspicious to Velten's liking. He didn't just think he was being used for something else, for something they didn't tell him, he was certain of it. But his hands were tied. Like a good soldier he was to follow the orders of two men likely to be as dangerous as Maximillian. At the very least it was another opportunity to serve with his father and victory in this war would give the Empire a significant edge over the Federation.

"Well? What do you think?" Klaus asked the pondering politician once Velten had left the room.

"He'll do, I suppose. He seemed suspicious. He's not stupid like most of the pawns we've used over the years. While that makes him more competent, it'll also make him a lot harder to control. Are you sure you can pull his strings without snapping them?" Cyryl inquired while flipping through the pages of Velten's file one more time.

"As sure as I can be. But should he come to pose a problem. Well… let's just say lieutenant colonel would be the last promotion of his short career," Klaus rose to his feet, taking both their glasses in his hands, "another drink, old friend?"

"Certainly, general, certainly."


End file.
